


A Fragile Hope

by LiraelClayr007



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Divergence - Post-Hogwarts, F/M, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22261939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraelClayr007/pseuds/LiraelClayr007
Summary: “So are you collecting Weasleys, then?”Hermione doesn’t look up from the protection charm she’s building into the iron scrollwork of the new Hogwarts gate. “Hmm?”George doesn’t look up either; he’s working on one of the gateposts, charming the winged boar to leap from the pillar and attack when activated. “This…” He makes a frustrated noise. “Us working together out here. Are you looking for an addition to your Weasley collection?”***Hermione and George keep coming together, and George doesn't quite understand why. But sometimes the only thing to do is keep moving forward and hold onto hope.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/George Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 80





	A Fragile Hope

“So are you collecting Weasleys, then?”

Hermione doesn’t look up from the protection charm she’s building into the iron scrollwork of the new Hogwarts gate. “Hmm?”

George doesn’t look up either; he’s working on one of the gateposts, charming the winged boar to leap from the pillar and attack when activated. “This…” He makes a frustrated noise. “Us working together out here. Are you looking for an addition to your Weasley collection?”

For a long moment she just stares at the gate, unseeing. Then George says, “You had Ron.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t say anything. Anyone with eyeballs knows she and Ron had been a couple. They’d been holding hands at the Battle of Hogwarts, casting jinxes without letting go of one another, clinging to one another when Hagrid placed what they’d thought was Harry’s dead body on the flagstones of the courtyard. She pushes the images aside, redoubles her efforts on the gate. She’s good at protection charms. She’d kept Ron and Harry alive all those months of wandering. Scarred and broken, but alive.

She’s snapped out of her thoughts by George’s voice. “And I know you snogged my sister a few times, back when--what was it, your fifth year?”

Hermione goes still at that. It isn’t a secret, not exactly. Ron knows, and Harry. But they don’t talk about it, and they didn’t really back then, either. “I haven’t kissed you.” The unspoken _yet_ hangs in the air between them, heavy. Hermione brushes it aside, saying, “How did you know about that?”

George snorts. “It’s always been easy to get Ginny to talk. Not for just anyone, of course, but Fred--” He stops, staring into the distance. “Well, anyway, we knew just how to get to Ginny,” he finishes, the enthusiasm falling away.

Hermione almost sighs, but she doesn’t want him to think it has anything to do with his mention of Fred, so she keeps quiet. “It was never about collecting Weasleys,” she says, matter-of-factly. “Or settling for one because I couldn’t have another--kissing Ginny because Ron was too clueless to notice me. Even back then I knew Ginny and Harry belonged together. I knew they’d grow old together, surrounded by flocks of red-headed children. But she was...pretty. And clever. I wanted to kiss her, and she wanted to kiss me, and it was…” The smile on her face is faraway and brushed with sadness. “It was nice. We were never _in love_ , at least not in the way you might be thinking. I’ve always loved Ginny, the way I’ve always loved all of you Weasleys. Harry too. You’re all part of my--” Here she gestures, trying to explain with her hands what her mouth is having trouble saying, but she’s waving at the gate, not at George. She pulls a face, then goes on. “You’re part of my _circle_. Me and Ginny, we were friends. We still are. We just happen to be friends who used to, on occasion, make out.”

They haven’t looked at each other once since they got to the gates to work, but Hermione can almost feel his desire to ask more questions. So she fills in some of the empty space between them. “You know I was in love with Ron. I still am, in my way. But…” She does sigh this time, long and drawn out. Her voice quavers, just the tiniest bit. “Things fall apart. Sometimes love isn’t enough.”

“Hermione, I’m--”

“It’s alright,” she says before he can apologize. “I’m alright.” She laughs, shaky and strained. “I’m not pining for Ron, George. He and I were mostly a disaster. I’m just thinking about…” She feels the Hogwarts grounds behind her, both the old and full of memories and the new bits being rebuilt. A tear trickles down her cheek; she absently wipes it away. “Just thinking about lost things,” she finishes.

“Why not Charlie? Or is he next?”

Hermione closes her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose, fighting the urge to either cry or laugh. “I’m not collecting Weasleys, George.” She nibbles on a biscuit from the plate between them. “Besides, I’m not exactly his type. I’m lacking something he’s looking for.” She raises her eyebrows suggestively, then winks.

George nearly chokes on his tea. “How did you know that? I mean, the family knows he’s gay, but we don’t really _talk_ about it. It’s just the way things are.”

Amusement replaces her exasperation. “Maybe I didn’t grow up with him, but I’ve spent a little time with him since I started at Hogwarts. He’s not exactly subtle.”

When she sees look of puzzlement on George’s face she has to bite back a giggle. “He’s not?”

“Not remotely. He’s a terrible flirt.”

“He is?”

Hermione gives in. “Sometimes you’re so like Harry and Ron. Honestly, pay attention to things once in awhile!” she says with a laugh.

He shakes his head, a smile playing at the corner of his lips. 

“Why do you keep coming back to me, Hermione?”

They’re at Hogwarts again, this time adding their defenses to those already present at the main doors. Hermione tucks her wand up the sleeve of her robes and turns to give George a look.

“I’m just an ordinary guy. I wasn’t good at school--I’m sure you’ve seen my OWL results, and you know I never finished my NEWTs. I don’t do anything important for the world. I own a joke shop. You--you could--”

Her incredulous look stops him short.

“I’ve never known anyone better at charms. And all those things you and Fred made, that you invented--they may be jokes, but they’re _brilliant_. You know how to follow through--you got an idea, did the research, tested and then tested again until you had the result you were looking for. You’re an inventor, and you’ve got a head bursting with knowledge and ideas. I don’t care about test scores.”

It’s his turn to look incredulous.

She laughs. “Alright, so I _do_ care about test scores. But they aren’t _everything_.”

For a moment he laughs with her, but then his face falls. Looking away he says, “Fred was always better.”

“No!” It comes out louder than she’d intended and several of the other pairs working nearby turn to look at them curiously. “No,” she says again. She’s still agitated but she keeps her voice low. “That isn’t what--” She takes a breath. “This isn’t a time for you to talk bad about yourself, George. I’m trying to convince you that I’m not a collector of red-headed idiots.”

“Don’t call Ginny an idiot!” He gives her a half-hearted smile.

Hermione raises an eyebrow. “She’s going to marry the Boy Who Lived. By choice. They’re made for each other, but she’s walking into trouble with that one and you know it. He can’t help but blunder headlong into every disaster that crosses his path. I think there’s at least a little bit of idiot in that.”

“Alright, that’s fair,” he says. “And I’ll give you Ron. He let you go, didn’t he?”

“It was--” She stops, narrowing her eyes at him. “Don’t change the subject.”

“You saw that, then?” His lips twist in an almost smile.

“I’m clever.”

Suddenly intense, he says, “You are! And that’s why I don’t understand…” He makes a vague gesture that seems to encapsulate all of him. “Why me?” His eyes plead with her, begging her to help him to see.

It’s too much. She closes her eyes and turns her face to the sun, letting the warmth sink into her skin. Hogwarts has always been a place of restoration, a place she can settle into and feel whole; it’s taken some time, but it’s finally starting to feel that way again.

After a minute or two she turns back to George; her eyes must be overflowing with her irritation because he takes a hesitant step back. “Why do I have to keep defending myself, George? I don’t have to rationalize my decisions. They’re _my_ decisions.” She pokes him in the chest and he’s so startled he almost trips trying to back away from her. But she presses. “Why are _you_ here, George Weasley?”

George opens and closes his mouth a few times. He looks like a goldfish in a bowl; if not for her frustration she might have laughed at his ridiculous face. Instead she just looks at him, arms across her chest, waiting for his answer.

But he doesn’t seem to have one.

In that moment everything extra falls away; he’s just a broken boy, confused and hurting. She takes one of his hands in both of hers. She doesn’t have any words, but hopefully this is enough.

No, she has words. She’s just not sure they’re the _right_ words.

You don’t look at me and see a know-it-all schoolgirl, she wants to say. You don’t see the one who always has to be right, the one who lives to please her teachers. You see me. Hermione Granger. You make me laugh when I’m sad. You understand when I need to be quiet. You don’t try to fill the silences with extra sounds.

Standing there, holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes, she thinks, You have written your name on my heart. But that is far too big to thrust at him in this fragile moment, so she tucks it away. Holding his hand will have to be enough.

“You don’t want me, Hermione.” She wants to reach out to him, to reassure him, but she holds herself still. He’s staring at the sky; she wonders if he sees the stars or if he’s too lost to notice.

A bout of muffled laughter erupts from the Burrow, unintentionally mocking George’s words. In unspoken agreement they take a few slow steps into the darkness of the garden, until the sounds of mirth behind them fade to a soft murmur.

George glances over his shoulder, the distant glow from the house behind them momentarily shines in his eyes. After a moment he looks back to the sky. “Half of me...half of me died with my brother,” he says, a small catch in his voice. “These past months, since he’s been gone...I’m only half a person. You deserve better than half a person.”

She looks up at the stars too. So far away, they keep shining for time out of mind. Even the ones that have already given their lives in a final flash of brilliance, becoming stardust, still shine.

“But I’m not whole either, George. The war, the horcruxes, they took pieces of me that--it’s like your ear. Some things can’t grow back.” She takes a steadying breath. “Did anyone ever tell you about my parents?”

“Your parents?”

“I sent them away. I didn’t want anyone to hurt them to get to me. Or have them just be collateral damage. But I didn’t just...before I sent them away I…” She presses the back of her hand to her mouth to contain the sob that’s trying to bubble out. “I modified their memories,” she whispers. “I erased myself from their lives. Because they were safer without a daughter.”

George turns to her, eyes wide. She answers his question before he can ask, saying, “I found them as soon as I could, and they’re fine. Things were a bit confusing for awhile--they couldn’t understand why they’d suddenly desired an extended holiday in Australia--but it turned out alright. They don’t remember forgetting me. But every time I look at them I remember them smiling at me--and then asking my name. Sometimes I think that hurt worse than Bellatrix’s torture.” She shudders, hugging her arms to her chest.

“It’s not the same, George. I know that. But aren’t we both a bit broken? Together...maybe together we make...well, one messed up human being. Messed up, but...maybe whole. And maybe we can be happy.”

She offers him a tiny, teary smile. “Shouldn’t we at least try to be happy? To grab on tight to even a sliver of hope? If we didn’t fight the war for that, I don’t know what it was all for.”

She bites her lower lip, then reaches out a hand to him, palm up. Inviting him to take a step. A leap of faith.

“I’m not who I was before, Hermione.”

“I--” she starts, but he cuts her off.

“Let me finish.” He searches her eyes, and he must see what he’s looking for because he breathes out something that sounds like relief. “I’m not who I was before, and I don’t think I ever will be again. With Fred gone…” He shrugs. “It’s like losing a limb. You can adapt to life without it, even get a new one, but no matter what you do you’re fundamentally changed.”

Something cracks in her chest. She lets her hand fall to her side.

“Wait,” he says, taking her hand and pulling her towards him until their clasped hands are resting on his chest. His palm is rough and warm, permanently calloused from so many years holding a broomstick, and she can feel the rapid beating of his heart. “I’m different, yeah. But Fred would smack a bludger straight at me if he could see me like this. I don’t want to wallow, Hermione. I want to hold onto…” His voice fades into the darkness, and she smiles softly.

“Hope?” she finishes for him.

“Hope,” he repeats. “And maybe…” He takes a shuffling step forward, and now the only space between them is occupied by their intertwined hands. “And maybe you. If you’ll let me.”

Her already racing heart skips a beat.

Had she ever noticed the tingle of starlight before this moment? Is it the chill of the spring night making her shiver, or is it something else?

With her free hand she reaches up to cup his jaw, her thumb lightly brushing against his cheekbone. “I think I’d like that,” she says, and somehow manages to let only the slightest quaver come through in her voice.

He presses her palm to his chest then puts both arms around her, pulling her even closer. “Hermione.” It’s almost a plea.

“Yes,” she breathes, and then she rises up on her toes to press her lips to his.

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written this pairing before. I've thought about them a few times, but only in passing "what if" moments. But earlier this week I was hit in the head with this, this collection of moments and missed communications. It came together almost without effort, like it's been living in my head, just waiting to come out.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I'd love to hear what you think!!! 💙


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